It happens that the world has become irritated.
Rest covers a crushed pumpkin,
also, the apparition hanging in a juvenile maplemust be brought down, washed and dried, and spread
again over the kid's bed.
A north wind strips the popple of its outfit, and flagellatesits uncovered appendages. The slopes wear coarse dim, for retribution,
before they're cowled in white.
And all the sweet vitality abroad last night,the light fire that lit up a malignant smile,
the metal of vehicle horns,
the pillowcases protruding with blackmailed chocolates–all is given up. The spirit is a chilly cell in November,
with one supernal window
conceding a wan light available just to those
who have surrendered the apparition.